


Little Town Blues

by soupytwist



Category: Nero Wolfe - Stout
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:56:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupytwist/pseuds/soupytwist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case strikes a little close to home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Town Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jest/gifts).



It didn’t start off as anything much, but then most things don’t, in my experience. I guess it’s up to debate if it ended up being something or not, but there were some things about it I want to get down for whatever counts as posterity. Hardly my finest hour, mind you, but, well.

The clothes looked respectable enough, smart shoes, pressed collar, the works, which was one reason why I opened the door. Another reason was an argument Wolfe and I had had that morning about my latest publication: he’d asked why I felt the need to include such well-written but preposterous caricatures, I’d said that at least I was making more money than he’d bothered to in the last three weeks, and then he’d tried being ironic and it had all gone downhill from there. The end result was that I hadn't gone through with my original plan to go to some farm upstate for extra-special mushrooms for supper, and was able to go to the door, take off the chain, and swing it open. I was only sore at Wolfe, not stupid, so I didn't open it more than a third of the way, but I was already disinclined to leave our visitor on the other side of it unless he was a cop, a Fed, or the bad kind of nutcase, which he rendered unlikely right off by saying “Good morning” politely like a human being.

“Good morning.” I did my best Visitors Only smile, because he wasn’t a cop or a Fed and had a set of cheekbones that raised him several grades better looking than I’d initially estimated, and therefore deserved the compliment. “You’re in luck, Mr Wolfe’s temporarily moved to Egypt, so you’ve got me. How can I help?”

He frowned, which put me off right away because I hate wasted effort. “I hope not. I have an appointment to consult with Mr Wolfe for three o’clock. I’m Lou Garrideb - I’m here on behalf of Mr Gerald Stotham.”

As far as I knew Wolfe had no appointments scheduled for the next three days except with the plants, but I don’t get paid to goggle at strangers. I almost left him on the doorstep in case he was being fictitious, but my instincts said he wasn’t, so I let him in, took his hat and coat, and left him sitting while I went to the office.

Wolfe was counting his bottle-caps again. He needn’t have bothered; I knew without counting that he was at least four over his quota for the week. I had already decided to let him have the pleasure of figuring that one out himself, however, and also it looked like he had some kind of appointment he’d fondly imagined I wouldn’t find out about, so I didn’t mention it.

I put on my most deferential face, because it’s the one that most grates on Wolfe’s nerves. So sue me, sometimes I’m petty. Besides, Wolfe’s many and varied annoyed expressions are an art in themselves, and one I like to indulge in whenever possible, at least when he deserves it. “Guy says he’s here on behalf of a Mr Stotham, has an appointment at three. Do you want to tell him he’s hallucinating, or shall I?”

He closed the drawer full of bottlecaps shut with a thump. “Oh, confound it. Yes, he has an appointment. Bring him in.”

I went and collected the goods. Nothing odd as I brought him in, nothing odd as I deposited him in the red leather chair, except that he looked maybe more curious about his surroundings than clients usually are. I fully intended to put up a fight if Wolfe asked me to leave, as I expected he would, but as I turned toward my desk to sit down with my notebook he said, “Archie, perhaps you could usefully occupy yourself with making arrangements with Fritz for tomorrow’s supper?”

That, from Wolfe, means that he thinks the visitor is dangerous and wants me to be within earshot, preferably armed. It also means that he expects me not to listen in on particulars. If I was holding an election tomorrow on my favorite instructions, voting public yours truly, it would probably come in dead last.

I managed not to sigh audibly, glared at Wolfe for being an ass, and went and got my gun.

After that, nothing happened. I’ve been accused of being easily frustrated, mostly by Wolfe, but I think anyone would go a little crazed waiting around listening for any sound of potential catastrophe, good to go barrelling straight through into the office at the slightest sign of incident, and all for nothing. I sat in the front room for an hour and seven minutes – I know exactly because at the end of it Mr Lou Garrideb got his coat and hat and shut the door behind him, and maybe ten seconds after that, quickly enough that I'd barely made it halfway across the room, came the sound of the elevator taking Wolfe up to the plant rooms.

I decided I’d had more than enough of the front room. If it hadn't been for Wolfe disappearing up to the plants like a rabbit at a greyhound track, I would've chalked it up to being just one of those things Wolfe does to prove he's the irreplacable genius around here. As it stood, I wasn't sure what to think, and I always hate that. It had filled my skull with all the dire things that could have ended up in us falling victim to some bottom-dwelling pondscum like Garrideb looked set to be. Surely, my brain was saying, there was only one thing that would get Wolfe making appointments that were both dangerous enough to need a bodyguard, and secret enough that he had been going to leave said bodyguarding to Fritz. Sitting around, I'd had more than enough time to imagine exactly how bad it could get, for both of us. However, I am in fact a detective, and have a very nice piece of paper from the State of New York making it official, so I wasn't going to sit around long.

First on the list, finding out if any of my usual contacts knew anything useful. I went to the telephone, picked up, and started dialling.

The frustrating thing was that they didn't. Know anything useful, that is - the closest I got was from Lon Cohen, who owed me big for a hint I'd given him a few weeks before about a banker's wife who was all set to be put away for murdering her husband. She hadn't, as she'd been seeing an entirely different banker at the time about setting some money aside for leaving him for someone less free with his fists, and Lon must've been pretty grateful for the tip, because he spent nearly an hour looking up names for me. And even then, the stuff he came up with was barely enough dirt to soil your shoe.

There was at least one Gerald Stotham in New York, one a signatory for a post office box, who listed himself as coming from Rhode Island and apparently mostly received checks to it, and another who was a former amateur boxer. The deposit-box sounded by far the most likely, especially if I was right and blackmail was on the cards, so I asked him to keep an eye out and let me know if something showed. As for Lou Garridebs, there were apparently none at all, at least that would admit to it.

It was starting to look bad. I kept thinking of the tests Wolfe gave me while trying to work out if he wanted to give me a job or put me out on my ear. He didn’t have a little desk with an inkwell or a ruler to smack the hands of cheats or anything like that, although the image of him in a teacher’s cap and gown is a pretty good one. He treated me to dinner and grilled me better than the salmon without once mentioning that when he'd found me I was living in a tenement with six other guys and had just killed two people, and at the end of it I was signed up. He later told me I’d passed five of his tests before they’d even begun, and one of these days I'm going to find out what they were. A lot of it was professional; Wolfe can talk my kind of shop better than he pretends if he has the inclination, and he'd had to satisfy himself I wasn't going to be a complete loss at tailing or the kind of minor housebreaking that comes up in my job now and again. But some of it was more... personal, and that was what was worrying me. I put it at about two to one that we were due for a particularly awkward discussion about the agreement we'd made on where our professional relationship ended and the private one began.

The flip side was that Wolfe would enjoy that just as much as I would. I was pretty sure that he'd hoped that one conversation was all we'd need, like the discussion about how Thursdays were laundry days and how long we should keep discarded newspapers for. The downside was that while ours wasn't an arrangement everyone would go for, it had been working fine for me so far and I wanted it to stay that way.

By this point, Wolfe was due back down from the plant rooms. I'm a believer in going straight to the source of a problem, and so in I waltzed to the study, managing, if I do say so myself, at least half my natural grace as I did so. Wolfe was already at his desk, looking like he'd never left. He has a way of seeming an immovable fixture whatever his backdrop is that has nothing to do with weighing a seventh of a ton. Usually it's reassuring; right then, it was more likely to make me throw something breakable.

I sat down, and swivelled to look at him. “So, if you haven’t worked it out yet, Lou Garrideb isn’t actually his name.”

He didn’t look surprised. “Indeed.”

“I don’t think Gerald Stotham exists, either.”

That got a twitch of the mouth and a raise of the eyelids. I added them to my mental scorecard. “Yes, I agree; if he is acting on anyone’s behalf than his own, their skills of concealment are at a level where I would say it would take the combined effort of every interested citizen to bring them to justice.” He leaned forward a little, which for Wolfe is like having an entire marching band playing for emphasis. "I must warn you, however, against recklessly underestimating him. He has more subtlety than is readily apparent."

I glared. "Which is why you're telling me to keep out of it."

"Yes."

He was totally matter-of-fact, too. My hands were steady and my voice only shook the tiniest bit as I replied, "And how exactly do you think not telling me what we're up against is going to help? Do you want me to get you your copy of our agreement, or will mine do? Because my memory is excellent, and I'm pretty goddamn sure it says that threats should be disclosed in full, especially when they concern us both."

He sighed. "I am not being difficult, Archie, I assure you. If there was danger to you I would let you know. This is...a private matter that I find I must deal with professionally. That's all. Involving you would be a pointless complication that would merely increase the risk."

"And dangerous private matters don't have anything to do with me." I was up and pacing by this point.

"This one... no."

Hearing him, it was impossible to doubt that he meant it. And that made me have to take my breath a moment, because if either of us had been going to have a personal problem of the blackmail sort, I would've guessed it would be me. Not that I frequent Christopher Street a lot, or even at all, but it wouldn't take a really determined person long to do some investigating in Ohio and make some guesses, or maybe pick something up from talking to someone I used to work with. Wolfe just seemed so much more unlikely. And whatever it was, he didn't want me knowing about it. I swallowed.

"Are you going to talk to this guy again, then? Pay him money, or what? Is that what we do now?"

Wolfe glared back. "I've already told you, 'we' does not apply in this case. If you cannot or will not accept that-"

"Okay," I said, and left to find Fritz before I did something really stupid, like maybe asking Wolfe exactly what he thought our little agreement meant, then. 

Fritz was in the kitchen, as I expected, making up menus while the stock for the evening meal simmered away. He gave me a look as I came in, but apparently he had tapped in to some kind of chef juju and refrained from forcing me to kill him for talking, instead going right back to deciding whether his special veal and mushroom pot pie went best with carrots or parsnips.

I don’t sulk, but it’s possible I kicked the kitchen table legs a little. "Wolfe is a bastard."

Fritz looked up. "That may be true, but I do not think that taking it out on my table will make you feel better."

Fritz is also sometimes a bastard.

"So you don't know anything about why he's suddenly developed the mental capacity of a particularly dumb goldfish, then? Or anyone called Lou Garrideb or Gerald Stotham?" I was reaching, and I knew it. I had pretty much nothing, which I should maybe have found easier to handle than I was, given that I'd had some practice.

Fritz shook his head. "I am sorry, Archie. I have not heard of either of these men."

"Figures."

"I think," he added, "that you should not be so quick to be sure all is dreadful. Perhaps tomorrow it will be better." Fritz is always sure that Wolfe can fix everything, somehow.

I sighed. "I hope you're right. I still want mine on a tray later, though."

The rest of the evening, despite Fritz's excellent supper of shellfish bisque followed by stuffed mushrooms and baby new potatoes, was a wash. It's never fun realizing you might actually be the sort of mug who sticks around for crumbs instead of going next door for a feast. In the morning, Saul Panzer appeared at eight forty-five and was off again at eight fifty eight. I didn't ask, he just nodded. Saul was the best all-around man in New York, and sometimes I wanted to hit him in the face.

I left shortly afterwards - not to tail him, because you'd have to be deaf, dumb, blind, and entirely crazed to try to tail Saul, but to follow up on the mail box lead. I'd already decided that I was going to do what I could; Wolfe could do whatever he liked, but even as just an employee I couldn't have left it.

The girl at the office seemed nice. Her blonde hair didn't quite get to the Marlene Deitrich look that she'd obviously been trying for, but she was a more than decent specimen for all that. She was also nice enough to show me the box in question, which was second from the left at the very end of the bank of lockers, although she wouldn't open it for me despite my pulling every trick in the book. Even the very fetching blue shirt I had on wasn't enough. Luckily, once she'd gone back to work and I'd crept back in, one of the keys I'd brought with me was. 

Inside I found three envelopes that I put in my jacket for closer perusal later, and one packet that looked like it had been opened and re-closed a few times. The packet contained several more envelopes, some photographs of people I won't describe because other people's bedroom habits should in my opinion be held at least mostly sacred, and a ring.

I recognized that ring. I had spent a lot of time, only a few months before, examining photographs of it about fifteen hours a day for a case. I didn't run, because it would have attracted attention, but I locked the box again and went for the roadster as quick as I knew how.

The journey back seemed to take years, with the uptown traffic stopping anything but the slowest crawling along. I finally pulled up, took the steps up to the front door two at a time, and dashed into the study - to find Wolfe sitting opposite Saul Panzer and a man I only knew as Lou Garrideb.

Wolfe acted just like he had always known I was going to come bursting in waving a packet like a rattle at a ballgame, and gestured me towards a chair, since mine was currently occupied by Saul. "Archie."

I stayed standing, and tried not to burst. "Yes, sir. And you might want to know that the viper you've currently got round the neck with a stick has actually bitten before. Just for general knowledge's sake, of course, since I don't suppose you'd want to do anything with information like that." I held up the ring. "Look familiar?"

The guy who wasn't actually Lou Garrideb leapt to his feet. "You -" He reached for his inside pocket, but Saul, being twice as smart as anyone except maybe Wolfe, was already there with a gun pointed right at him, and he settled back down.  

I grinned. "Know you're also probably responsible for Mr and Mrs Bleston's deaths, on top of anything else? Yeah."

"That's Mrs Bleston's ring?" asked Saul, not taking his eyes off the target.

"Oh, yeah."

Wolfe replaced both his hands on the table, left, then right, in the way that means he's being supremely smug about something but trying to be subtle. "It also means we can add the fictitious Mr Stotham to our bag. Saul, if you would be so kind as to include that information when you speak to the police?"

"Wait, there really is a Stotham?" I blinked.

"I now believe so, yes."

I frowned, then realised what Wolfe must have meant. "Mrs Bleston's brother!"

Wolfe nodded. "He is probably also responsible for this current charade of attempting to sell photographs of innocent citizens. A foolish endevour, and doubly so for thinking this agency would be receptive to such a thing. Mr Garrideb, of course, must be Dalton, the friend we initially could not find." He scowled. "Unless there is anything you wish to add, Mr Dalton, I think you could best occupy your time otherwise than in disfiguring my office."

"I'm not saying anything without an attorney," muttered Dalton.

I had already got to my desk and pulled out the handcuffs I keep in the top drawer for just such emergencies. "You can wear these while you're waiting. I don't think any of the rest of us want to end up with a hole in the head like the poor Blestons." Dalton was looking mighty displeased at this, so I added, "They're not comfortable, but at least they're stylish."

Jewelry acquired, Saul agreed to keeping an eye on Dalton in the front room while waiting for the cops to show. If I didn't know exactly how much he gets paid for a day's work, I'd suspect him of being after my job. As it turned out, it's a good thing he isn't.

I went and stood in front of Wolfe's desk. "Well?"

He had the good grace to at least look abashed, which is quite the look on him, let me tell you. "Well, what?"

I grinned. "Aren't you going to say thankyou?"

"It was in hand," Wolfe muttered. "There was no need for you to-"

"Oh yes there was." I always enjoy having a chance to interrupt. Comes of being a degenerate, I suppose. "Sure, Saul would have got to the ring pretty quick. But then he might have found out what had you so het up, and he's not as obliging as I am."

Wolfe raised his eyebrows. "And that is?"

I grinned even wider. "That you're secretly the kind of guy who kept letters I wrote you way back when." I took them out of my pocket and put them on the desk. "They're not literary masterpieces or anything, but they are yours."

Wolfe kind of looked like someone had hit him. "They were in his box?"

"Yeah." I looked at him. "How did he get hold of them, anyway?"

Wolfe made a noise like a car backfiring. "I suspect the cleaning woman. They were usually locked in the safe, and I can think of only the one occasion on which they might have been extracted."

I leaned forward and kissed him. "We're going to have to vet the next one better, then. And get you over this weird idea you've got that you shouldn't talk about these things. What were you going to do if it had come out, pretend they were from some other A.G. altogether?"

Wolfe scowled. "I had a plan." 

Normally I would have had some fairly big objections to that, but by that point I was past caring all that much. I kissed him again just as the doorbell rang for Cramer. It would take some sorting out, but I suddenly felt pretty sure it would be fine. Just call me Fritz.


End file.
